'To be sure, sir,' the landlord answered comfortably. 'Will you step this way, and I think we shall be able to ascertain something for certain?' But the tutor did not like his tone; moreover, he felt safer in the room than in the public hall. He shrank back. 'I--I think I will wait here until Mr. Pomeroy returns,' he said. The landlord raised his eyebrows. 'I thought you were anxious, sir,' he retorted, 'to get news?' 'So I am, very anxious!' Mr. Thomasson replied, with a touch of the stiffness that marked his manner to those below him. 'Still, I think I had better wait here. Or, no, no!' he cried, afraid to stand out, 'I will come with you. But, you see, if she is not here, I am anxious to go in search of her as quickly as possible, where--wherever she is.' 'To be sure, that is natural,' the landlord answered, holding the door open that the clergyman might pass out, 'seeing that you are her father, sir. I think you said you were her father?' he continued, as Mr. Thomasson, with a scared look round the hall, emerged from the room. 'Ye--yes,' the tutor faltered; and wished himself in the street. 'At least--I am her step-father.' 'Oh, her step-father!' 'Yes,' Mr. Thomasson answered, faintly. How he cursed the folly that had put him in this false position! How much more strongly he would have cursed it, had he known what it was cast that dark shadow, as of a lurking man, on the upper part of the stairs! 'Just so,' the landlord answered, as he paused at the foot of the staircase. 'And, if you please--what might your name be, sir?' A cold sweat rose on the tutor's brow; he looked helplessly towards the door. If he gave his name and the matter were followed up, he would be traced, and it was impossible to say what might not come of it. At last, 'Mr. Thomas,' he said, with a sneaking guilty look. 'Mr. Thomas, your reverence?' 'Yes.' 'And the young lady's name would be Thomas, then?' 'N-no,' Mr. Thomasson faltered. 'No. Her name--you see,' he continued, with a sickly smile, 'she is my step-daughter.' 'To be sure, your reverence. So I understood. And her name?' The tutor glowered at his persecutor. 'I protest, you are monstrous inquisitive,' he said, with a sudden sorry air of offence. 'But, if you must know, her name is Masterson; and she has left her friends to join--to join a--an Irish adventurer.' It was unfortunately said; the more as the tutor in order to keep his eye on the door, by which he expected Mr. Pomeroy to re-enter, had turned his back on the staircase. The lie was scarcely off his lips when a heavy hand fell on his shoulder, and, twisting him round with a jerk, brought him face to face with an old friend. The tutor's eyes met those of Mr. Dunborough, he uttered one low shriek, and turned as white as paper. He knew that Nemesis had overtaken him.